No Tears Left To Cry
by Montelini
Summary: Ín the world of FanFiction, nothing is impossible. So here's my take on 6x01 and 6x02 for all those Linstead fans still out there. It was supposed to be a oneshot but will now at least consist of 2 chapters. No need to summarize, just read it :-)
1. Chapter 1

**So here's what I've been working on for the last three weeks. It was supposed to only be a oneshot but once I started writing, there was no holding back I guess :-) it's currently a two-shot but I might add a third chapter in case you want me to.**

 **This is for everyone who's still reading Linstead because in the world of FanFiction nothing is impossible and we can keep them alive :-) so enjoy! (fyi: flashbacks are in italic)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

 **Part One**

Her sleeping body jerks awake, her hazel-green eyes fly open and her heartrate picks up its pace the moment the plane that's currently holding her hostage is hit by some light turbulances and every muscle in her body immediately tenses up. To her very own surprise, she fell asleep shortly after taking off almost two hours ago, the two drinks she had before boarding the plane doing a proper and appreciated job with lulling her to slumber and turning her surroundings off. Because she can't really say she likes flying. Or to describe it more clearly: it's not her thing at all being trapped on a plane high up in the air and so far away from the ground, and the only reason she's even boarding planes occasionally is because they bring her from one place to another and save her from roadtrips that would take days. Though she does like roadtrips. At least she used to. Back in the days, when they drove to Wisconsin for long weekends, singing along with cheesy country songs that played from the radio, when her world was the most colorful it has ever been.

When checking in at La Guardia earlier, she wasn't sure whether it's a good idea to accept the window seat the airline employee offered because she's not the kind of person who looks out of the window all excited to watch the world from a bird's eye view. But there is one reason why she agreed to take seat 27A and when she reaches for the window shade to pull it up and gazes out of the tiny window, she knows why her heart yelled yes earlier while her brain screamed no by this innocent question about the seat she prefered, her heart winning this inner battle: she's greeted with the most incredible skyline there is. Her skyline. The one that owns her heart, the one that's rising into the sky right behind the deep blue water of Lake Michigan with its trademark buildings: the Hancock Tower and the Sears Tower. For the second time within the last couple of minutes her heart skips a beat or two but this time it's because seeing this skyline is filling the beating organ in her chest with a joy she hasn't expected. Not in this situation anyway. When the reason for her visit is such a tragic one.

They approach the O'Hare airport quickly and the skyline comes closer as they're flying in over Lake Michigan, the plane shaking in the wind some more which leaves her inwardly telling her stomach to settle the hell down because they will soon hit the ground, so there's no reason for rioting and possibly making her run to the lavatory during the landing process.

The sky is dark, like there's a huge rainfall coming any minute, but there are a few rays of sunshine that are battling through, making the scenery even more beautiful no matter that she's seen the Chicago sky like this a million times. Though not recently, not in over a year and that makes it somehow special. Because a dark sky full of clouds in New York is just that: a dark sky full of clouds. It's nothing special, only a precursor for rain.

They're losing altitude by the minute, she can feel and hear the landing gear extending and most of all, she can feel the pressure in her ears increasing, and as this big plane rattles in the wind again, the tiniest smile forms on her lips despite her stomach still not feeling too well. This is Chicago. The Windy City. She doesn't have her name for nothing.

It's only when the plane finally hits the ground, slams into the brakes and then rolls to its parking position that she realizes she's home for the first time in over a year. For the first time since she left this city, everything and everyone behind without such a thing as a goodbye. For the first time since her life fell apart, since she left and lost the only man she ever truly loved and imagined spending the rest of her live with. And only when she pushes these thoughts away, she realizes a second thing: despite not living here anymore, her brain just automatically refered to this city as her home. While it has not ever associated New York as such although the Big Apple has been the center of her life for more than a year now.

That probably says it all.

She recognizes the tears in her eyes before they can fall and blinks them away by gazing out of the window. The rain she saw coming from the plane is drumming on the ground with huge drops now, the few rays of sunshine still leaking through creating the most beautiful rainbow stretching over the whole sky. Instead of her tears drying, her current view makes them pool in her eyes even more because while she's been able to keep her feelings and emotions down during the flight thanks to the drinks from some bar at LaGuardia lulling her to slumber, seeing the rainbow now, the reason for coming back home hits her with full force: someone she's always looked up to, someone she's called family, someone who's seen her at her best and at her worst and who's been there no matter what, someone who's played a tremendous part in becoming the person she is today, some who she's loved with all her heart, crossed the rainbow bridge to the other side a couple of days ago: Alvin Olinsky. A friend. A team member. A father-figure. A man she could always count on.

″ _Hey Erin, great job in there,″ her colleague Tim praises her with a pat on the back as they watch a couple of police officers escorting the drug dealers they just busted during an undercover operation to the patrol cars._

″ _Thanks,″ she answers with a forced smile as she removes the scrunchy from her hair because the tight ponytail is causing her a headache, her hair effortlessly falling over her shoulders in soft, dirty blonde waves as soon as the scrunchy isn't holding it together anymore. ″But that gig has been fairly easy.″_

″ _Yeah, but you still gotta pull the easy stuff off,″ he winks. ″So just take that compliment, will you?″ her partner laughs, nudging her with his elbow. Tim Pearson is a goofball. Most days a pain in the neck. But he's nice. Sometimes even funny though only when he doesn't try too much. But when he truly is funny, he can even make her laugh, which she thinks is a good thing because she doesn't usually feel like laughing. And most importantly, he's good police, a solid partner and together they make quite the team. In the beginning, he tried to flirt with her, tried to get to know her better but she made things clear pretty fast and told him that she wasn't interested and would never mix the business and the personal. Not again at least, though that was something he didn't need to know. But he's anyway accepted the boundaries she set without questioning them any further._

″ _Okay, whatever,″ she chuckles in response and rolls her eyes._

″ _You wanna come to the Tequila Bar with us later? Celebrate our successful bust that makes our city a better place?″ he asks as they make their way to their undercover car, which turns out to be a fancy roadster, to leave their current location and head back to the office in downtown to wrap up the night._

″ _Later?″ she echoes, raising her eyebrows at him. ″It's almost midnight,″ she notices dryly._

″ _So?″ Tim smirks, raising his eyebrows as well in an attempt to tease her._

″ _I'm beat, I'm tired, I'm smelling of smoke and dirt and I just want to sleep. So thanks for the invitation but no.″_

″ _Oh come on, Erin,″ he exclaims dramatically. ″You barely ever join us. What's the matter with you?″_

″ _There's no matter. I'm just not the afterwork-hangout-type,″ she shruggs as she opens the car door to plop down on the driver's seat, wondering whether anyone would ever pick up on that lie she's been telling them for a year now. Though technically it isn't a lie. Because she's changed a lot since moving here. And while hanging out at Molly's after a tough case or sometimes for no reason at all was her life back in Chicago, she couldn't say meeting her colleagues after work is still something she prefers to do although they're all nice and probably even fun to hang out with. But they're not her people. They're not Adam who's the dork of the group, and Kim who usually talks her ear off, and Kevin who gives the best teddybear hugs, and Antonio who always buys them tequilas and Jay who has the dreamiest blue-green eyes, eyes that she used to get lost in. And so she stays away. Because spending time at some bar with her new colleagues here would only remind her of what she misses most, would the hole in her heart and the longing for her people only let grow bigger. And so the only person she occasionally, as in when her schedule allows it, spends time with, is Olivia Benson. And her adorable son Noah._

″ _Yeah, keep on telling yourself that,″ Tim chuckles as her takes his spot in the passenger's seat._

″ _Will do,″ she answers dryly, hoping that they're done with this topic for tonight, and before she starts the engine of the car, she reaches for the cold coffee-to-go that's still resting in the coffee holder as well as for her private cell phone that's always staying in the car when she's going under. Not that it would be a huge jeopardy anyway. There's barely anyone who ever contacts her on her private number or rather: other than Hank, there's actually no one who's calling her._

 _And so she's surprised to see she has thirteen missed calls when she unlocks her phone with the fingerprint of her thumb. Thirteen missed calls from the very same number to be precise. Thirteen missed calls from a number she doesn't have saved in her phone but still knows all too well. Because it's only three digits different from her direct dialing, the one that belonged to her phone on her desk in the bullpen in Chicago. It's the number of the 21st district, the one from the phone on the front desk. It's Platt's number. And the fact that the woman who she's always been something special to has tried to call her thirteen times within the last two-and-a-half hours makes her inhale a sharp breath and lets any color fall from her face until it's as white as the car she's currently sitting in because she's certain that there's only one reason why Trudy Platt would try to call her frantically: something happened. Something bad. Something that's shaken the team to the core. Someone died. Someone from her family, this best team she ever had and would ever have being left in a stage of heartbreak and grief with one member less. That's what she knows even without such a thing as a confirmation. What she doesn't know, however, is who's the one who will very soon have his name written on the CPD memorial, who's the one who probably didn't make it out of a bust or died in the blaze of gunfire during a shooting. And the thought of hearing Trudy say a name, any name, and make her greatest nightmare real with it, terrifies her as much that she can't move._

″ _What's wrong?″ her partner frowns as he watches her staring at her phone with wide eyes, her lips slightly shaking and her fingers frantically holding onto the coffee and the cell._

″ _Uhm...nothing...″ she stammers, her voice raspy and barely even there, and she slowly sets the coffee back down. ″I just...I just gotta make a call,″ she offers as an explanation and jumps out of the car before Tim Pearson can even blink._

 _She walks through the dark and cold spring night for almost five minutes to find a spot far away from all the cars, headlights, blue lights and people that are still making this place busy at 11:43pm, but eventually realizes that no spot will meet her requirements because all she's doing is avoiding calling this well-known number back as she fears the news she's about to receive. And so her finger hesitates over the recall button for a lifetime and with a shaky finger she only pushes it because she's afraid Tim will soon come with a whole battalion of cops to look for her._

 _It's Trudy Platt who answers the phone after the third ringing and the minute she hears her voice she just wants to hang up again because she's pretty damn sure she's not in a million years ready to hear the reason why she's had more calls within the last three hours than she had within the past year._

″ _Hi Trudy, it's Erin,″ she finally finds the courage to speak after a moment of silence, after gulping down the emotions that threaten to invade her with no mercy._

 _Her words are followed by another moment of silence and she's sure she can hear the woman on the other end of the line sobbing silently. It's a noise that makes her stomach turn and twinge because it's indeed already the confirmation of what she's known deep down inside for the past six-and-a-half minutes. It's not just someone being badly and seriously injured. There's someone who won't come back. Ever. Someone they're all close to._

″ _Hi Erin,″ Trudy breathes out and she's sure she's never heard her voice like this before, chills running down her spine when she thinks of the tragedy her family is currently faced with._

 _There's more silence and she can hear the background noises as Trudy obviously struggles to keep on talking and so she's the one to ask the crucial question despite not wanting to hear the answer. ″What happened?″_

 _She can hear Trudy sob some more before she inhales a deep breath and quietly stammers: ″There's been...″ she starts but has to inhale once again before she's able to continue and deliver the news that shatter her world. ″It's...it's Alvin...he was stabbed and he didn't...they couldn't...he...he...″_

 _Trudy Platt's voice breaks and she sobs uncontrolledly but Erin doesn't witness anything of that as her phone hits the ground and she stumbles backwards. And if it wasn't for the lamp post she's reaching for, she would've hit the ground just like her phone._

 _She's not crying. Instead she's doubling over as the universe is colliding above her, as she has the feeling someone is stabbing a knife right into her heart, the air trapping in her lungs which makes her feel like she's choking, and for a moment she wonders whether there's the possibility that this is just some nightmare. For several reasons._

 _But it's not._

 _It's reality._

 _Although it feels like a nightmare._

 _She doesn't know how much time has passed when she's reaching for her phone again with shaky hands, it could've been minutes or hours or probably even days, but Trudy Platt is still there and proves once more why she's one of her role models as well when she shows all her strength and tells her the details of what happened. It's shaking her world to the core once more, it feels like her surroundings are closing in on her to swallow her whole, and she just wants to yell and scream and punch her fist into something. For several reasons as well._

 _And that's what she does later, after trying to call Hank without success, when she's back in her tiny Brooklyn apartment all by herself, far away from the questioning looks of her partner who's not the person she feels like opening up to: she's screaming and yelling and punching her fist into the innocent wall of her bathroom until her knuckles start to bleed and first bruises are visible._

 _No one dares to question the bandage around her left hand on the following day._

 _They only throw her compassionate glances._

 _Bad news travels fast as it seems._

 _She's of course called into her boss's office who tells her to take a couple of days off until she feels like working again but she brushes Jen's concerns off and tells her she needs the work to take her mind off, to distract herself from her own thoughts and emotions, and she will only take two days off for the service and memorial. Because that's the least she can do, that's what she owes him. Saying her last goodbye to her loyal friend in person no matter how much the thought of returning to Chicago makes her stomach turn._

 _And so she keeps a brave face during the day and ignores the concerned glance from her partner and anyone else she works with, brushes Tim's attempts to talk about it off and tells him to focus on the work they've got to do, and only cries when she's back at her apartment in the evenings._

 _That's when she scrolls through old pictures on her phone until the guilt eats her up, and then slides back down on the wall until her bottom hits the ground, when she's wrapping her arms around her knees and lets the tears run down her face. Until there are none left anymore._

Receiving the news of O getting stabbed to death four days ago hit her with the force of a wrecking ball that set her entire life out of ballance. Because Al getting booked for murder and brought to jail in first place was her fault and only hers, so his death was on her, she is responsible for him getting killed. Because two years back, she'd been the one who wanted to cover Hank's back and save his life by moving Kevin Bingham's body to some place commander Crowley wouldn't find it. Because Hank had saved hers, so the least she could do was repaying the favor and finally make it even. And Alvin Olinsky, this selfless, gracious man had volunteered to help her because he'd known that she couldn't possibly do it alone, because he would cover for Hank, his partner in crime and best friend through thick and thin, anyday. And now, two years later, he took the fall for him. And for her. Keeping her out of this whole mess entirely and not giving Hank up although it would've saved him all the trouble. He stayed true to himself until the very end. Until someone stabbed him and he bleeded to death.

The past certainly always finds a way to come back and haunt her in the most crucial way.

″Excuse me, ma'am,″ a voice startles her as much that she almost jumps up from her seat, her heartrate once again far away from being normal or healthy. She turns her head around to see one of the flight attendants standing right next to row 27, only then recognizing that the whole plane is empty and she's the last passenger who's still here.

″Uhm...sorry,″ she mumbles as she wipes the tears in her puffy red eyes away with her hand and gets up from her seat to reach for her hand luggage in the overhead compartment.

″Are you alright?″ the woman asks carefully, the same concern written across her face that was also written across her colleagues faces during the last couple of days.

She grabs her suitcase and mumbles: ″Yes.″

It's the very same answer, the very same lie she's been telling everyone in New York so often in various situations in recent months when they asked her about her well-being.

 **XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

Her key still fits into the lock of the front door of Hank's house and so she uses it to let herself in when her ringing leaves her standing in front of a closed door. She got the details about Al's memorial from Trudy because the man she considered something like a father has not been returning her calls or answered her messages ever since Al's death as he was not only dealing with everything on his own but also battling his own demons. And so she left him another message, telling him that she would stop by his place as soon she dropped off her one piece of luggage at the downtown hotel she is staying in, hoping that he wouldn't shoot her then in case he's home because he confused her with a burglar or anyone who'd want to come after him. Though she somehow doubted he's home at that time of the day.

″Hank?″ she calls but there's no answer, just as expected, probably even as known. But coming all the way to his place anyway is rather her way of avoiding or postponing going to the district. Because she doesn't feel like she's ready to go there yet, ready to be faced with Al's empty desk, ready to look Hank in the eyes knowing that Al's death is their fault, ready to meet the family she never said goodbye to, ready to meet _him_.

She doesn't know how he's going to react seeing her after how things between them ended. And she also doesn't know how her heart's going to react meeting him for that matter. The only thing she knows is that she isn't ready because only thinking about him still hurts in a way she's never experienced before.

″Hank?″ she calls once more as she walks into the living room, slightly gasping for air when she finds some pillows on the couch covered in blood. But then she remembers how Trudy told her on the phone that he came into work with a bruised face the other day, so the red, dried liquid on the fabric actually just matches up with her story.

″Hank?″ she calls for a final time but when there's nothing but silence again, she decides to leave her former home to call an uber and drive to the 21st district. Because sooner or later she has to.

Her heart's beating in her throat when she gets out of the uber in front of the precinct and glaces up the stairs to the huge wooden double door and the floor with the windows above which is the bullpen, her former desk just right behind those walls. She's fighting the urge to just jump back into the uber and only attend the memorial without visiting her former team before and only takes the stairs when she remembers how not saying goodbye properly the last time she was in Chicago is now one of her greatest regrets. Because life's short and unpredictable and now she will never be able to hug Alvin Olinsky, tell him thank you and say goodbye.

That thought makes her put one foot in front of the other until she reaches the door and opens it. She takes the next couple of steps and reaches for another door and suddenly she's standing right in the middle of the precinct, Platt's desk right in front of her, the stairs that lead up to the bullpen to her right. And before she sees Platt or anyone else, she sees him, how he's coming down the stairs in this very moment, wearing a black shirt with a v-neck, black jeans, badge pinned onto his belt and carrying his black jacket in his hand. Of course out of all people it has to be him.

Their eyes only meet when he's almost running into her as he's so focused on taking two steps at a time – and they're only almost crashing because she's quite frankly standing there like some stone that's glued to the ground and not able to move – and his gaze is one that she fails to interpret. It's a mixture of surprise and shock and sadness and anger, his blue-green eyes widening in disbelief as he recognizes her, almost as if he's seen a ghost.

What follows is one of the most akward moments this precinct has witnessed so far, one that reopens old sores that haven't even come close to healing so far.

″Hey,″ she's the first to speak, her voice nothing but a raspy, nervous whisper.

″Hey,″ he stammers after the initial shock and takes a step back. ″Didn't expect you to come,″ he adds with a tone he's never talked to her with before. He tries to hide his heartbreak and emotions away with the sound of his harsh, snappish voice but fails. At least for her it's obvious. For anyone else it probably wouldn't. But she knows him better than anyone else does.

″Why wouldn't I come for the memorial of a family member?″ she asks back in the exact same tone – because yes, she's trying to hide her heartbreak and emotions away as well and acting like meeting him doesn't bother her when it inwardly tears her apart - not taking her eyes away from as these words leave her lips.

″Uhm I don't know,″ he shruggs. ″Why would you just leave your family without such a thing as a goodbye?″ And suddenly, as his voice rises and the challenge and bitterness in it is evident, their conversation is personal and there's a whole lot of tension between them, a whole lot of unspoken frustration. ″Why would you just go and never look back?″

″Hey, you two!″ Platt's voice hooms out through the hall before things can escalate between them and she quickly joins them because not the entire district has to hear what she has to say. ″Cut the crap already,″ she hissed angrily. ″Do it whenever you want, wherever you want. But not today and not here. You understand?″

″Yes,″ they answer simulateously before Jay turns around and disappears through the door without saying another word, her eyes following him until he's gone, her heart beating in her throat.

The first conclusion is simple: it was two broken hearts meeting the reason for being broken. The second conclusion is, that whether she struggles to accept it or not, that it was two people meeting who probably are not yet over each other, this short conversation – if one could call it that – being enough to swirl up a lot of feelings and emotions she's locked deep down in her heart and pushed away more or less successfully for the past year.

″It's so good to see you,″ Platt says with a teary voice that interrupts her thoughts and pulls Erin into a long hug. ″I'm glad you came back,″ she whispers.

″Of course,″ Erin answers quietly.

″I'll buzz you up whenever you feel ready,″ Trudy wipes her tears away with the back of her hand and puts on her brave face.

″Thank you.″

It's weird to walk those stairs to the bullpen up again. It's bringing back a lot of memories. Memories she's not able to deal with right now. Like when she walked them up after a drugged out night and a call from Al that turned her sober in literal lightspeed, on a mission to save Jay's life. When she walked them up together with Jay in the mornings, their hands intertwined as they enjoyed a last moment enjoying the personal before the professional would take over for the next couple of hours.

″ _Er?!″ Jay calls for her from the kitchen while she's slipping into some jeans, a top and a plaid shirt in the bedroom._

″ _What's up?″ she calls back as she closes the button of her jeans and then joins him in the living room, finding him rummaging through the fridge._

″ _You happened to have emptied the milk?″ he asks and turns around to face her, a little too much frustration written across his features for such an early time of the day, especially since he is usually a morning person that's barely ever in a bad mood._

″ _Uhm...I don't know,″ she shruggs, knowing very well despite pretending she doesn't. Because she definitely emptied the milk yesterday morning. And of course yesterday they used their free Sunday afternoon to do their weekly grocery shopping trip and the milk wasn't on the list. Because she forgot to add it to the things they needed. Because a couple weeks back, before her boyfriend lived with her, she wouldn't exactly care whether the milk's empty or not, simply drinking her coffee in the morning without milk until she would remember to buy some again. But it's not as simple for Jay, who, for some reason, can't drink his coffee black because it does weird things to his stomach. And he also can't function without this first cup of coffee in the morning before they leave for work. That's what she knows as well. That's why she feels guilty for forgetting about the fact that she emptied the milk so that he now has to leave for work without this first mug of coffee that's essential for survival. She's just still not used to sharing her life with someone else and so she has to work on all those habits no one bothered about when this only used to be her place._

″ _You don't know whether you emptied the milk and threw it in the garbage?″ he raises his eyebrow at her and from the tone of his voice she knows he's pissed. She would be, too. But his pissed tone pisses her anyway because she just can't do those kind of conversations at 6.45am. She can't even do normal conversations at that time of the day._

″ _Well, maybe I emptied it,″ she answers vaguely._

″ _I'm pretty sure I didn't,″ he says back not exactly friendly._

″ _Why do you even ask when you already know better?_ _Yeah okay, I emptied it, are you satisfied now?!″ she snaps, growing frustrated about his tone, the fact that she hasn't had a coffee so far either not making this situation any better._

″ _And you didn't put it on the list,″ he mutters under his breath, more stating than asking._

″ _Yeah, God forbid, I forgot,″ she rolls her eyes and pushes past him to fill her own mug with the black liquid. ″Can you just stop making such a big deal out of it? I promise to write everything on the list from now on.″_

″ _Like you promised to stop throwing your shoes and stuff just next to the door when you come home? Like you promised to clean the shower from your hair after using it?″ he challenges her and she can't quite believe the warpath her boyfriend is on this morning. It almost seems like he wants to fight._

 _But two can play this game. ″Or maybe like you promised that there wouldn't be any wire for the 65 inch flatscreen because you have a guy and for weeks I've now been looking at all the wire on the wall?!″_

″ _I told you he'll come as soon as he finds the time!″_

″ _And I told you I'll work on all those habits,″ she fires back, in the same moment those words leave her lips wondering what the hell they're even doing here. They're both stubborn, she knows that, but if they continue like that, their living together adventure will be over before they can get used to the other being around 24/7. And that's something she absolutely doesn't want. To be precise, that's the least thing she wants. Because she doesn't want to lose him. Ever._

″ _Look,″ she says quietly, her tone suddenly placable, and she sets her mug aside to place her hands on his hips as she looks up into the most mesmerizing eyes she's ever seen. ″I don't want to fight with you about something that's so not worth the fight. We're both not perfect. And we're both too stubborn for our own goods. And you know, I...″ she pauses, ″I've never lived with a guy before. I've always had my place to myself and didn't have to think of milk or had to work on my messy habits. So this is a first, Jay. And I promise that I will work on those habits because I want this first to be a last. Meaning that...that I never want to live with anyone else again other than you,″ she says, her cheeks blushing by this sweetest of love declarations, surprising herself with it because for someone who's always dealt with commitment issues, telling him she wants to spend the rest of her live with him would actually be quite a big deal. But it doesn't feel like it is one. Instead, it just feels right. Because she can very well imagine spending her forever with him, waking up and falling asleep next to him for the rest of her life. And he deserves to know that._

 _His eyes start to sparkle unbelievably and she figures such a statement might have been the last thing he's expected. ″I want that, too,″ he says softly, the cutest smirk playing on his lips._

″ _Good,″ she smirks back up at him and places her hands on his muscular chest as she gets on her tiptoes to press a kiss against his lips._

″ _I mean, I already made you throw that pillow-habit overboard, so we'll get everything else figured out as well,″ he winks cockily._

″ _Who needs pillows anyway?″ she chuckles, her eyes roaming his body quickly before their lips meet for another passionate kiss._

 _It doesn't take long until she finds herself pressed against the wall with Jay's hungry hands on her waist. They kisses deepen like there's no tomorrow and only when they have to part because they're running out of breath, he's picking her up into his arms to carry her to the bedroom, to place her down on the bed that's no longer the residency of those 6 pillows because she has her very own human pillow now._

 _And when they later walk up the stairs to the bullpen with holding their hands and smiles plastered on their faces, they only answer the question about being late with the response that the line at the coffee shop where Jay got his coffee, had been endless, and silently wonder whether they're delicate morning acitivities are probably written across their beaming faces anyway._

 _There's no doubt that Erin Linday's morning moods have definitely changed ever since she wakes up to Jay Halstead every morning._

Those memories hit her as hard that she almost loses her balance and falls back down the stairs but she shakes them off last minute and focuses on setting one foot in front of the other. When she reaches the top of the stairs, she sees them all standing there together, minus Jay who she just ran into downstairs, and minus Hank, who's God knows where. They don't seem to see her at first and it feels like a slap in her face when she has to accept that they are a family now. And she's not a part of that family any longer. Because she left.

″Erin?″ Antonio is the first who recognizes her, his voice sounding like he can't believe his eyes.

″Uhm hey,″ she answers awkwardly, her cheeks blushing, and she feels hot and cold.

″I can't believe you came,″ he says.

It's weird how they all didn't expect her to come. But then again, with the way she left, she can't blame them.

″It's so good to see you,″ he adds before she can say anything and pulls her into a hug. A hug that means so much more to her than she can ever put into words. Because her greatest fear has been that they wouldn't appreciate her coming, that they wouldn't want to have her around, that they would be mad at her for the way she left.

But there aren't such feelings. They don't seem to resent her for leaving without a goodbye. They're not obviously mad at her. They don't tell her to leave again because she doesn't belong here anymore. They don't yell at her, they don't give her the cold shoulder, they don't question her reasons for leaving. Instead, they all hug her and tell her they're glad she's here. And she doesn't realize how much she needed to hear this, how much she needed those hugs and those words from the people she loves, and how fucking much she needed to come back until Kevin reaches out to wipe her tears away with his thumb gently.

 **XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

Alvin Olinsky gets the most beautiful service there possibly can be, exactly what he deserves, being honored as the amazing person her was, as the priest talks about his life and merits of this silent, unagitated hero they all just lost: the Intelligence Team, the 21st District, the Chicago Police Department and Chicago herself. The church is bursting with people and while the Intelligence team – minus Hank who Meredith didn't want to come as she learned earlier - is sitting in the front row, Erin is sitting somewhere in the back with people she doesn't know, the tears running down her face like some waterfall, her brain still not being able to comprehend that O, how they sometimes used to call him, is gone. The man who always wore a head, who appeared right next to them out of nowhere, who always looked up from behind his desk with an orange or banana in his hand, who could smirk absolutely adorable and was the best undercover the CPD has had, was gone, joining his daughter in heaven now.

The service, this last goodbye, and the team in their uniforms carrying the casket, it all happens in a blur, and when the crowd's slowly disappearing after the car with the casket drives off to the cemetery for the private funeral, Erin still finds herself standing in front of the church all alone, battling her very own demons of how she is the reason for all of this, how it's all her fault, and she watches her former team gathered together from afar until it's time to leave so she can battle those demons inside her hotel room before heading back to NYC tomorrow.

It takes her some courage to join them as she feels like she's intruding this family, but this time she at least wants to say goodbye. She won't make the same mistake twice.

″Hey...uhm...″ she stammers clearly uncomfortable with interrupting what they're currently discussing, feeling like a foreign object that doesn't belong here. ″I'll...I'll head back to the hotel now and I just wanted to say goodbye I guess. It was good seeing you all again,″ she says, not having the intention to hug them because it would only create more awkwardness between her and Jay. She's looking at everyone but the man who used to be her person - he's the one she can't look into the eyes as those words leave her lips – and then turns around before they have the chance to say anything in response.

″Hey Erin wait,″ Antonio calls, what makes her spin around again. ″We were just discussing what to do now and thought about meeting in front of the Planetarium to drink one to Al, his favorite red wine at one of his favorite places. And then Molly's probably, who knows. Don't you want to join?″

At first, she's perplex because this innocent, lovely question is catching her off guard. Then her heart wants to scream yes because of course she wants to spend time with the people that are currently looking at her expectantly and still seem to care about her so much. Then she sees Jay's instead of screaming yes, some words leave her lips in a stutter: ″I uhm...I...no...I can't...″

″Of course you can,″ Antonio encourages her. ″You're still a part of this family. You know that, right?″

This statement leaves her speechless and lets the tears spring right back into her eyes and if it wasn't for her steel resolution, she would've started to cry right in front of them because these words, because still belonging somewhere, means so much more to her than she can ever tell them.

″Al would want you to be there,″ Adam says as she's still fighting to keep her emotions down and his words don't make this challenge any easier.

″Yeah,″ Kevin agrees, ″come on, Linds.″

She doesn't know whether it's Kevin using the nickname only he uses or most of the eyes she's meeting begging her to stay or a mixture of the both of them but she agrees to join them for their very own Alvin Olinsky tribute by nodding her head slightly.

Only for a second, when her eyes meet Jay's again and heartbreak meets heartbreak, she wonders whether she'll regret that decision.

 **XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

The sun is already setting by the time they all meet at the Planetarium, a colorful sky of yellow and orange and red and purple colors with some puffy clouds right behind the Chicago skyline, the sunset without a doubt extra beautiful tonight, just as if someone is coloring the cloud especially for Al.

″To Al,″ Trudy says and they all raise their cups with red vine, not caring about the no-alcohol-in-public rule. Not tonight. ″He was one of a kind. A true friend. Forever one of us.″

″To Al,″ they all chorus and bring their cups to their lips to take some long gulps of the red liquid that has the ability to make people drunk quite fast.

They stay at the Planetarium until the sun is gone and the city lights up in the darkness, the lights sparkling on Lake Michigan as soft waves hit the seawall, and they enjoy the stunning view of their city glowing in the darkness until the first two bottles are empty, which isn't actually such a challenge for eight people. Since none of them feels like hanging out in a crowded, loud and busy bar, they decide to go to another place somewhere by the water but one that's not as public, one that's quite a bit away from downtown and gives them more privacy than this tourist spot.

Settled somewhere by the docks, they drink more wine and beer – although there's a saying that one shouldn't mix the two – and share stories about O that point out what a remarkable person he was, stories that actually make them smile. In the beginning, Erin is the silent listener and only nods her head occasionally because she still doesn't feel like it's her place to say something, because she still feels guilty for Al's death, feels guilty for keeping this secret to herself, feels guilty for staying when she's the very last person who should be here for this exact reason. And that thought, what would happen if they knew, lets chills run down her spine because as she's now back with her people, she realizes that so far, she hasn't known how much she needs them in her life. They are her family. And they will always be, which will make going back to NYC even harder, going back to pretending she doesn't care about all the things she left in Chicago, going back to pretending she made the right decision one year ago, going back to telling herself that things will get easier, that she only has to be patient and let time heal all wounds.

But she's too old to believe in fairytales.

The longer they stay and the more alcohol they drink, the more she takes part in the conversations and the more relaxed she becomes, the alcohol doing exactly what it can do best: making her chill and numb. Which turns out not to be a bad thing tonight because at some point, when it's already close to midnight, she's brave enough to ask Jay whether he remembers a certain situation, a memory about Al that the two of them share. At first, he looks at her in surprise but then the smallest of smiles forms in the corners of his lips and he nods, which leads them to telling their team together, this reminiscing even making them finish each other's sentences. They don't obviously laugh about it but they look at each other with soft smiles and share glances that are worth a thousand words.

It's a good thing everyone is too drunk to recognize them, including she and Jay themselves.

 **XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

Of course she has to share her cab with Jay after telling the two cab drivers where everyone has to get dropped off. Of course Kim's and Hailey's places are the first ones the cab approaches. Of course it ends with just the two of them, her and Jay, sitting in the back of the cab as it drives to his place and then to her downtown hotel. Of course there's tension between them although after all the stories and the smiles and the glances it's a positive one, so different from the tension this morning and afternoon. Of course he asks her to come upstairs into his apartment for another drink – though those words don't leave his lips immediately.

″Alright, bye then,″ he says casually and only looks her in the eyes shortly when they had actually talked all normal ever since Hailey left the car seven minutes ago. But all of a sudden everything seems to turn awkward again, like the last couple of hours didn't happen and he just wants to get away from her.

″Bye.″ That's all she's able to say back before he opens his door to get out of the car.

She shouldn't be sad when the door is closed from the outside, she shouldn't be sad that this is their goodbye, she shouldn't be sad that this is how the night ends. But she is. And it's an overwhelming feeling she can't fight. She swallows the lump in her throat down quickly because after everything that happened, she promised herself to never cry for him, or any guy, again, because after all the crying for him, there are no tears left to cry.

At least she tells herself there shouldn't.

The driver is already looking over his shoulder to pull out on the street when the backdoor suddenly flies open again, Jay leaning down to look at her with the softest and most sheepish expression.

″Uhm...I figured...,″ he stammers, apparently surprised about his own actions mixed with probably being a bit too drunk, just like she is. ″Would you like another drink...upstairs...I mean?″

″I think I've had enough.″ It's her brain that answers, her dizzy drunk brain, and her heart wants to beat it for this statement. ″But thanks,″ she smiles faintly.

″What about coffee?″ he asks, not giving up.

″Well...,″ she breathes out, telling her brain to shut up although she knows it would be better to listen to it than to her confused, upside down turned heart. ″I guess I could need coffee.″

And that's that.

″Alright then,″ Jay smiles and she thanks their driver and gets out of the cab to follow him upstairs into his tiny apartment, a true mancave with the 65 inch flatscreen that once was theirs, and the mainly red painted picture of the motorcycle he already had all those years back when his bedroom was where they secretly made love, when she would come over to his place in the evening to get lost in the most beautiful way.

Feeling even more dizzy after taking all the stairs and those memories of their together days invading her once they're inside his apartment, she only throws her jacket over the back of the couch and then settles down on the floor, leaning back against the wall, hoping that her world would stop to spin. She covers her head in her palm while she listens to Jay rummaging through the kitchen and only looks up when he's standing over to her, offering her a mug of coffee.

″One milk, one sugar,″ he says and hands her the mug.

″Thanks,″ she answers, giving him a nervous smile and telling the butterflies, that appear in her stomach because despite being drunk he remembered how she likes her coffee best, to settle the hell down. She's not going back there. She can't.

″Is it comfy down there?″ he chuckles slightly as she makes no attempt to get up.

″It's okay,″ she shruggs. ″Didn't make it to the couch...my world was spinning. But when I close my eyes...ugh,″ she grimaces. ″It's bad no matter how.″

″Like riding a very fast carousel, huh?″ he grins and settles on the floor next to her.

″Yeah,″ she confirms. ″You can relate?″

″Definitely,″ he laughs. ″I might just've spread the sugar all over the kitchen floor because my vision's a little blurry. And I'm sure there's more milk on the counter than in those mugs,″ he admits.

″Huh,″ she chuckles and takes a sip from her coffee.

They sit there in silence, in comfortable silence, and it takes half the mug for her vision to get at least a little clearer, her eyes only then falling on the picture on the sideboard across the room. It's Jay and Al, arm in arm, bright smiles on their faces. And just like this everything comes back to haunt her, a sharp breath escaping her mouth.

″Are you alright?″ Jay asks, hints of a very well-known concern in his voice.

″Yeah,″ she nods mechanically, not taking her eyes away from the picture, which makes Jay's eyes follow hers.

″He was one of a kind,″ he says quietly.

″He's the...he's the reason I became a cop,″ she blurts out without thinking about it any further. This is something she hasn't shared with anyone before. But of course out of all the people it's him whom she tells. Who else would it be?

″What?″ Jay asks back in surprise. ″I thought Hank...″

″He played a part in that as well...but Al...″ she starts to tell him.

 _There is nothing worse than homework. Other than exams and tests at least. So in general, there's nothing worse than school. Which means she can't wait for the day she can leave this place that's causing her a headache every day. Although she has no idea what to do after finishing highschool. In case she will finish it. She actually has to put some effort in or she'll barely make it through._

 _Her grades aren't bad because she's not smart enough for highschool. Even with missing so many classes when she had to take care of her drugged out mother and her minor brother she's still able to follow up on almost everything. Except history. And political social studies. And geography. And economics. But she's good in math. In science. And in English. So it's not because she's not smart since especially when it comes to math and the logical stuff she's smarter than many in her class. It's because of all these fake girls, it's because she has to pretend to be someone she isn't: the girl who's staying with Hank while her rich parents are traveling, a story that couldn't possibly be any further from the truth. And it's because she doesn't know what to do with her life, can't picture her future like everyone else in her class can. They're all already talking about college and she only knows one thing for sure: she doesn't want to go to college, that's just not her world and she won't spend one more day in school than she absolutely has to._

″ _Hey kid,″ Alvin interrupts her thoughts as he walks into the break room of the 21st district where she's currently sitting to do her history homework._

″ _Hey Al,″ she greets him back, keeping her gaze focused on her book in order to pretend she's being productive._

″ _What are you battling with?″ he asks._

″ _History,″ she breathes out in frustration. ″I swear, this class is such a pain in the ass.″_

″ _Can't argue you on that,″ Al laughs._

 _She looks up shortly to throw him quite the glance but her eyes stay glued on him when she sees what he's wearing and how he's looking in general. ″Did Meredith kick you out and you're homeless now?″ she raises her eyebrows at him._

″ _Naaah,″ he answers and takes one of the bananas from the counter. ″It's all part of the job.″_

″ _Meaning?″ she frowns._

″ _Just returned from an undercover gig,″ he winks._

″ _Oh yeah...that makes sense I guess,″ she shruggs, her eyes still on him as she bites her lip with her teeth._

″ _What?″ Al smirks, being able to see that there is something on her mind she wants to ask._

″ _This whole undercover thing...isn't it super difficult?″ she asks since this is something she's actually curious about._

 _He seems to consider her question for a minute. ″Well kid,″ he answers and sits down on the chair next to her. ″You tell me: is it difficult to walk into school every day pretending to be someone you aren't?″ he asks, taking a bite from his banana._

″ _Uhm,″ she frowns, not quite getting the point he's trying to make. ″It was in the beginning. But now it's just normal. I don't really think about it.″_

″ _You see,″ Al smiles, ″that's not a whole lot different from what I do. I pretend to be someone I'm not and over the years, it's just become normal. So you, Erin Lindsay, would surely make one hell of an undercover cop one day.″_

 _There's no joke in his voice, no tease. He's dead serious about this but she can't believe that someone just told her that she out of all people would be a great cop one day. Yet, his words burn into her mind and at this point, she has no idea how much they will make her think._

″ _Yeah right,″ she scoffs. ″In case there weren't a hundred priors in my record. I think there are thousands of people out there who are better made to be a cop.″_

″ _I don't think so,″ Al disagrees. ″You have your heart in the right place, you're smart, you're determined, you're not afraid and you're good at pretending, which isn't always a good thing but can be in certain situations. And you know what, Erin? If you seriously consider to become a cop, there are people who would help you make those priors and files disappear. And I'd be one of them,″ he winks and leaves the room, leaving her back speechless. Which is something barely anyone is able to do._

″I had no idea,″ Jay smiles after she's done telling him about this turning point in her life.

″I never told anyone,″ she answers. ″But yeah, Al definitely made me think that day. And I thought about it for months and liked the idea more and more but I didn't want to get my hopes up high because I was afraid it would end up being just another let-down. That they don't have enough influence to make my record disappear.″

″But they had,″ Jay concludes.

″Yeah,″ she smiles. ″And until this day, I don't know how they did it. They always said that's none of my concern and it's all taken care of. Not even Platt would tell me and she's usually the one who would do anything for me. Just not answering this one question as it seems.″

″So that's where this love affair has some cracks, huh?″ Jay laughs.

″Shut up,″ she giggles in a way that can only be blamed to the amount of alcohol in her system, nudging him with her shoulder.

And that's what he does. He shuts up. Though only for a minute until he gets up and comes back with a sixpack of beer. He sits down next to her again, they clink their bottles to Al and continue to share stories about him. How they once had to make up a story about Jay picking Erin up from her place before shift because Al saw them arriving in the same car in the morning when they actually secretly spent the night together. How he caught them kissing in the locker room in the evening when they were official and told them dryly whether they probably rather wanted to get a room rather than christening the locker room, not knowing that they had already done that weeks ago. How he and Jay once had a battle about being the better sniper, Jay winning this little competition by beating him at some fair on a Sunday afternoon and winning a gigantic teddy bear that he then gave to next little child he saw. How he became quieter after losing his daughter last year. How he called Erin when Jay had been kidnapped and how he then gave her the ceramic knife that saved both of their lives. How he's the reason that they're both still here.

And that's the moment it happens, that's the moment when she blurts her biggest secret out as the guilt and regret threatens to swallow her whole and make her break together inwardly. She got the man killed who saved her in two ways, first by calling her at all, and second by giving her the ceramic knife. Of course it was saving Jay that saved her from spiraling down into the rabbit hole even further and make her realize where she belonged but if it wasn't for Al calling her in the first place, she would never have known that Jay's undercover operation went dramatically wrong.

″It's my fault he's dead,″ she whispers ever so quiet that it's a challenge for Jay to understand her. ″If it wasn't for helping me...″ her voice breaks and she can't hold the sobs back anymore. ″He...he...died...and that's...on me.″

″It's not,″ Jay answers and wraps his arms around her to pull her closer to his body. ″He was not as stupid to not know what he was getting himself into the moment he decided to help you.″

Those words don't hit her like a slap in the face. They don't surprise her. They don't make her stomach turn and make her feel sick. It's not the realization that he knew about her involvement in the disappearance of Kevin Bingham's body, it's only the confirmation that he knew. Because deep down inside, she's known that he knew.

He's always been able to read her like an open book after all.

He doesn't judge her. He doesn't question it. He doesn't push her away. Instead, he only pulls her closer to his body and it makes her cry even harder, her tears leaving a wet spot on the fabric of his shirt right by his chest. And it takes a lifetime until the sobs are fading and the tears are drying and she's able to look up into his face, his blue-green eyes gazing down on her softly and in this moment they're doing all the talking.

There's a saying that drunk people are the most honest and in this case, that saying is true about drunk eyes as well, because she can see so much more in these mesmerizing orbs than the various colors of the ocean. She can see and hear his heart and his soul and she's pretty damn sure he's capable of doing the same. She can see everything she wants to see and in this moment she hopes, her eyes can show him everything he wants to see as well.

He wipes her tears away with his thumb, his calloused skin touching her soft cheek making her shiver, still not taking her eyes away from his as she wants to listen to everything they have to say. And it's when he stops wiping her tears away but still rests his thumb on her cheek and his hand on her jaw, when it's as silent that they hear their hearts beating, that they both lean in slowly, carefully, and caught in this moment, two broken souls and hearts become one when their lips meet in the softest, most delicate kiss.

It's a kiss that's everything but that she tells herself is nothing. She's drunk, he's drunk and they both probably won't remember tomorrow. Under normal circumstances, they would never let this happen. But the circumstances are as far away from being normal as the earth is from the sun. And so they get lost in the spur of the moment, get lost in two damaged souls still yearning for each other, get lost in finding solace in each other's arms.

She should've stayed with her first answer when he asked about joining him for a coffee. She should've known that they were both already too drunk. She should've known that they were playing with fire. She should've said no. But she didn't and so the night ends with them doing more than sharing innocent kisses as they miraculously manage to get up and teeter to the bedroom with stars dancing right in front of their eyes and their worlds spinning.

They fall onto the bed and undress each other with clumsy, hungry hands and fingers and despite feeling dizzy and being drunk, she knows the moment he enters her and they're back being one, that no amount of alcohol will ever make her forget _that_ feeling...

* * *

 **Well, that was part one. I hope you liked it! Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Part two will be up soon, just need to work on some last details :-)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you lovely people so much for your feedback :-) Here is the second part, enjoy!**

* * *

 **Part Two**

His eyes flutter open slowly when his world starts to spin and turn and dance even though he's sleeping and everything should be black and peaceful, but the moment they're greeted with just the tiniest amount of light, he instantly closes them again as it sends a crucial pain through his head, a groan escaping from his lips. He rubs his forehead with his fingers and carefully opens his eyes again, even slower this time, until he's able to take in the familiar surroundings of his bedroom without that it feels like his head is about to explode.

The moment his hand finds the sheets next to him cold and empty, he knows that Erin isn't at the delicious bakery around the corner, that she most likely doesn't even know exists, to get them breakfast, knows that he won't find her in the bathroom taking a shower or in the kitchen making coffee, knows that she won't come back. And he can't really say he's surprised when his eyes really find the other side of the bed abandoned. Yet, he can't deny that it feels like a stab in the heart that she left without a goodbye. Again.

For a second he wonders whether it was all just a dream because she's been a part of his dreams regularly over the past year. But there's this unique smell of her still in the air and embedded in the pillow next to him and since at some point over the last couple of months he couldn't remember her smell - that once was his very favorite smell in the world - anymore, he knows this wasn't just some dream because now the unique smell of vanilla and peach and raspberry and something that's simply Erin is back invading his nostrils and messing with his fragile heart.

His memory of the night is blurry and there are certainly pieces missing but it's not like they were completely out of it, that they completely lost control and their senses. It might have been a spur of the moment thing that led them to end up in his bed and let passion and many bottled up feelings take over but they were aware of what they were doing, so it was a decision they made, not something that just happened because they didn't know what they were doing. Though very well a decision under the influence of a lot of alcohol for sure.

In fact, it was a typical one-night-stand. Two people escaping from reality when they needed it most. Nothing more and nothing less. That's at least what he's telling himself so the feeling of being left behind once again doesn't threaten to swallow him, so he doesn't admit to himself that the moment he had her back in his arms and their bodies reunited, his world stopped spiraling for the first time in a year and the hole in his heart closed, so he forgets the angelic expression on her face and the sparkling tears in her eyes that he saw only seconds after entering her, and so he can continue to tell himself that they didn't make love. It was just a one-night-stand.

And he tells himself that until he believes it.

It takes him 20 minutes and several attempts to leave his bed and after texting Hailey that he'll come in late, taking a cold shower to wake up and taking some pain killers from the cabinet in the bathroom, he's finally ready to start his day by making himself a quick cup of coffee to go. But something else grabs his attention before he can even turn on his coffee machine and the moment he sees the handwritten note next to the mess of spilled milk on the counter, the coffee is forgotten.

He reaches for the piece of paper quickly, too quickly given that he's been telling himself last night didn't mean anything, and reads the words written in the one handwriting he would recognize from a million.

 _You were right about the milk last night, you managed to spill it all over the counter :-) But that's not what I wanted to tell you I guess..._

 _Thank you for last night, for the conversations and for being there. It really meant a lot and I just needed someone to talk to...that this someone turned out to be you wasn't what I initially expected when I came to Chicago but if I could've chosen someone, it would've been you. I hope you don't wonder why I just left again because I'm sure deep down inside you know as well as I do that we got caught in the spur of the moment last night and that you and I are not a good idea. After everything that happened between us I just figured it's for the better to leave it at that and I'm sure you know that, too._

 _Sorry for not telling you goodbye in person,_

 _Erin._

He has to read the message a couple of times to really understand it, how she first tried to crack a joke and danced around what she really wanted to say. But in the end of the day, it's her taking the easy way out. Because she knows that if she had stayed, they would've needed to talk. About everything. About what happened last night, about what they still mean or don't mean to each other, about why she left without saying goodbye all these months back. And while he really would've wanted to give her a piece of his mind about simply leaving to NYC without saying a word, because he couldn't forgive her that, he was kind of glad that she just left once more because they're both not good at talking. Especially not when those conversations include talking about feelings and emotions. And one-night-stands that he really has to lie to himself to convince himself mean nothing.

 **XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

He still thinks about this – all of it, whether he would've wanted to talk with her or not, whether he would've been able to do this conversation or not, whether he would've been able to be honest with her or not - when he's in the locker room of the 21st district almost two hours too late and of course it's his partner Hailey who runs into him first.

″Wow, you look like hell,″ the blonde woman notices the obvious when she sees him.

″Thanks, that's exactly what anyone wants to hear,″ he answers dryly, the headaches hammering against his forehead despite the pain killer he took and the happenings of the night and morning not leaving him in the best mood.

″Come on Jay, have you looked in the mirror this morning? You look like you haven't slept all night,″ she laughs slightly, trying to lighten up the mood by cracking a joke he doesn't think is funny.

″Just too much alcohol last night,″ he shruggs.

″Yeah, we all had quite a fair bit of that,″ she says, ″but none of us is late and looks like you.″

″Lucky you,″ he replies, his undertone almost snappish.

″Okay okay,″ Hailey holds her hands up in defense. ″Who pissed in your coffee this morning?″

″No one,″ he breathes out. ″Can we just not do this right now and get right to work?″

″Sure,″ she shruggs in response, holding back with rolling her eyes by his attitude. ″You happen to know whether Erin checks in again before leaving? She borrowed me her beanie last night and I forgot to give it back.″

Even someone mentioning her name does weird things to him and he only hopes that his face doesn't show the reaction of his heart. ″She's gone,″ he answers shortly and it's too revealing. Of course it is.

″How do you...-″ Hailey frowns before interrupting herself and coming to the only possible conclusion. She's an elite detective after all, just like he is. And when there's one thing they're all brilliant at, it's reading people's faces. It's what they make their living with. ″You slept with her,″ she states and the fact that Hailey needed literally five seconds to figure it out makes him nervous because he knows there's no chance of denying. ″And she left again, didn't she?″ Hailey reopens this old sore even more.

″So what?″ he acts like it doesn't bother him, basically answering Hailey's question with yes. ″We talked, we drank a couple more beers, we ended up having a drunk one-night-stand and she left before I woke up. No big deal.″

″Yeah, and who are you kidding?″ she raises her eyebrows at him. Apparently his pokerface only works when he is undercover but never when things regard his personal life. _You're a horrible liar._ That's what _she_ once told him.

″It didn't mean anything,″ he breethes out through gritted teeth, close to losing his patience. He can't help but wonder whether it sounds as much as a lie as it feels.

The confirmation that it indeed does comes instantly. ″You still love her.″ It's once again not a question. It's a simple statement and he knows that his partner will be able to look right through him when he now tells her that he doesn't. But right now his heart and his brain are as confused that he can't either answer this question with yes or with no. Because he doesn't fucking know how he's feeling about her. He's mad at her for leaving. Twice. He's angry, heartbroken and hurt. But those feelings are close to being outweighed by all the other feelings that have made a comeback with her stepping back into his life, mostly by one. Love.

″It's better like this for both of us,″ he only mumbles in response, repeating her words from the note and coming to the conclusion that they might even be true, and leaves the locker room to bring this private interrogation to an end and finally start working.

It's what he's telling himself for the next couple of days.

It's what he's telling himself for the next couple of weeks.

Until there's something else happening that lets his world spiral out of control once more and makes him wonder whether he'll ever catch a break, whether fate will at some point stop using him as a punching bag and allow him to just live his life without any tragedy in form of a returning ex-wife, a break-up with the love of his life, a young girl catching his bullet that goes through a wall, an affair with someone that turns out to be a drug dealer and a team mate, a family member, dying after getting stabbed.

There's a huge fire in an apartment building right in the heart of Chicago downtown. It's the apartment building he and Will made their father move to after his various heart surgeries since his house was a wreck as he couldn't take care of the place anymore. They sold his house in Canaryville and didn't leave him much of a choice, very much to his obvious displeasure. And just a couple of weeks after moving in, several stories of this highrise building are engulfed in flames. And Pat Halstead is one of the victims. Though in the beginning it looks like it's just a scare, nothing too dramatic, as he doesn't suffer from burning injuries but only from inhaling too much smoke after trying to help a friend that's caught in a wheelchair. He's even up for a fight, just like he usually is, and it's Jay that he clashes with, basically blaming him for ending up in the hospital when he had no right to sell his house, imputing him to just going for his money – his non-existent money - which leaves him fire back nasty words that he absolutely means in that moment.

And so his heart stopping to beat and the aftermath of no signs of brain activity come as a horrible, unexptected surprise for everyone.

They've always had a complicated relationship. His father has never been the kind of father a son wished to have. Not during their childhood and not now. They've never had this special bond that he wishes to have with his children one day. He's his father, they're related by blood but it's not like they share a whole lot of great memories together. There are some from his childhood, of course, but much more are there those of his father not being proud of him because of the career he chose, even kind of resenting him for the decisions he made when enlisting into the army and becoming a ranger and later joining the Chicago Police Department. So the reason for him not wanting the doctors at Chicago Med to turn off the ventilator after diagnosed as brain dead and then crying on his bedside is not because he isn't ready to let a beloved person go, because he can't lose this beloved person. It's because of what he said, the words he threw at him in anger because his dad could always trigger those emotions with just the way he was, those words that are now the very last words he ever said to him, those words he couldn't take back ever again and would now be burned in his memories as the last conversation they'll ever have. _You don't have any money you thankless old prick._

And that's what haunts him.

That's what makes him grimly hunt the man who's responsible for the fire even though he's pretending it has nothing to do with his father but rather with all the victims that lost their lives in the fire. That's why he uses his partner as a punching bag and freaks out every time anyone wants to say their condolences. That's why he's getting sidelined from Hank because things are too personal for him and his boss knows he might not be able to think straight - he hasn't exactly proven him wrong in the previous days. And that's why he disobeys Hank's clear order of staying back and letting them do the job.

He has to do this himself or he might not ever be able to forgive himself for this very last conversation. That's what he owes his father, that's the only way he can make it up to him somehow. And so he makes a decision when his fingers automatically dial Kelly Severide's number and his mouth asks him for help that he offered a couple of days back without that he has planned this whole thing through.

It's a decision made in the heat of the moment, when he just can't stop himself. It's one that almost gets him killed, that should've killed him, when his vest catches a bullet and his side catches a through-and-through. It's a decision that earns him Hank yelling at him for disobeying his direct order and not doing his job when he's the most vulnerable he's been in a long time, sitting on the step of the ambulance, his torso bare and his body wounded. But it's nonetheless a decision he doesn't regret. Because the only things he feels are numbness and emptiness and loneliness and sadness and he's not yet able to comprehend what just happened and how he just risked everything in order to get justice for his father.

They bring him to Chicago Med to get him checked out but other than the bad bruises on his chest and the scratch and flesh wound the other bullet left he's fine. At least physically. That he's mentally far from being fine is something he knows deep down inside but truly figures out when he and Will go to his father's empty apartment, that didn't engulf in flames but of course still smells of smoke, once the hospital tells him he's good to go, when he finds the photos of his graduation from the police academy and some newspaper articles hidden in some drawers, when he realizes that despite pretending of not caring about his career and appreciating what he does for a living and not being proud of him, he always was.

It hits him with a force that threatens to knock him off his feet and makes him stumble back on the bed, where he sits down and lets the silent tears roll down his face because he can't possibly hold them back after these intense last days and hours. And if it wasn't for Will stepping into the room and asking him whether he is alright and then helping him to get up and bring him home, he would've sat on the edge of the bed crying until there hadn't been any tears left to cry.

 **XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

Will only stays with him for another hour, discussing the upcoming funeral and memorial on the following afternoon and saying no to his offer to drink a whiskey to their father because Jay's not allowed to drink with the pain medication in his system. He acts like he understands it and tells him to go and spend the evening with Natalie and Owen and although the ginger is hesitating at first, he leaves soon after, probably realizing that he can't babysit his younger brother although he could very well need a babysitter tonight.

He naturally ignores his brother's warning of not mixing the pain medication with booze. The whiskey from the shelf in the kitchen proves to be a great companion that has the ability to turn the world around him off and so he pours one after the other as soon as his brother can no longer tell him not to, until he can't feel anything anymore. No pain, no anger, no grief.

It's even lulling him to slumber at some point and he only wakes up when there's a permanent knock that he figures isn't in his head but on the door and he only gets up to answer it when he's afraid that the force of these fists will soon knock the door down. Figuring that it can only be Will who's standing in front of his apartment in order to check on him again although it's almost 11pm, he gives his best to walk to the door in one straight line, which fails, but the moment he opens the door and is met with a familiar pair of hazel-green eyes, he sobers up in literal lightspeed, his world still very much spinning nonetheless. Though the fact alone that she's standing in front of his apartment almost knocks him off his feet because it's the very very very last thing he's expected. So maybe it's just a halucination due to the amount of booze he's had tonight. Maybe it's just a dream and in reality he's still sleeping on the couch.

He quickly learns it's not.

″Hey,″ she says quietly and although it's only just one word, it finds its way right to his heart.

″What are you...″ he rambles, his brain having lost the ability to form complete sentences, ″...doing here?″

″We uhm...″ she rambles at first. ″We once promised to always have each other's back. And I figured you could need someone who has your back right now,″ she offers as an explanation, her eyes scanning him sternly.

He's not sure whether what she said makes sense. He doesn't know why she jumped on a plane to come all the way from New York to Chicago only because she figured he could need someone, could need _her_ out of all people. And he doesn't know how she even got to know about what happened in the last couple of days, whether she knows he almost died today.

″Who told you?″ That's the one question that leaves his lips although he has a million. A million that would be more important. But leave it to his drunk brain for not getting it right.

″Does it matter?″ she asks back softly.

It doesn't.

They stare into each other's eyes for what seems like a lifetime. And she turns out to be the only person who doesn't say she's sorry for his loss. Because she's the only person who really knows about the kind of relationship he and his father had, because she once was his person and so he told her about all those complications, so whether he's able to admit it or not, she's exactly the person he needs tonight. Because she understands him, this, like no one else does, like no one else can.

And within the span of the next couple of seconds, his drunk brain makes a decision as he wordlessly lets her into his apartment. He almost stumbles over his own feet trying to get to the couch to sit down again and if wasn't for Erin's super fast reflexes, he would've had a meet and greet with the floor which wouldn't have done any good to his wounded body.

″Easy,″ she says and guides him back to the couch, eyeing the glass and the half empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table shortly.

″You havin' one, too?″ he asks her as he leans forward to fill his glass again, barely realizing that he's pouring more of the liquid onto the table than into the glass.

″No,″ she denies. ″And you shouldn't have one either.″ Her hand wraps around his wrist gently to hold it back from filling the glass and it feels like his skin is burning when she touches him. For the split of a second, their eyes meet, but he's quick to turn his head away again to concentrate on filling the glass.

″But I'll have one more. Or two. Or three,″ he says, making his glass extra full to prove his point.

″Jay,″ she says with a soft force in her voice, her hand still on his wrist. ″Stop it. We both know this doesn't change anything.″

He doesn't stop. Instead, he pours the full glass of whiskey down in four gulps, without setting it aside in between. Because she can't tell him what to do. She has no right telling him what and what not to do. Not anymore.

The outcome of proving his point follows quickly as his stomach turns and the alcohol burns right up his throat again. He barely makes it to the bathroom before emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl, literally vomitting his guts out in the minutes that follow.

″Hey hey hey,″ Erin says softly when he's done and tries to get up back on his feet without that his limbs have the strength to do that. ″Stay down.″ She pushes him back down and hands him some toilet paper and a glass with water to clean his mouth.

He obeys and sits back down, leaning his back against the wall and closing his eyes, feeling absolutely miserable, his chest hurting from the impact of the bullet earlier, his side sore and the fresh scar twinging and his stomach still rioting, the next wave of nausea not far away. She kneels down next to him, putting a cold, wet towel on his neck but removes it the minute she realizes he's shivering, which turns out to be an indicator for throwing up some more.

His stomach doesn't give him a break until there's nothing left in it anymore and he's only dry-heaving, the pain in his chest and side literally tearing him apart as he's doing so.

″Let's get you to bed,″ Erin says when he's still leaning over the toilet bowl, cold sweat covering his forehead and his body shaking making him feel like an addict who's battling withdrawal symptoms.

″Come on,″ she helps him to get on his feet and guides him to his bedroom, his heavy body several times almost falling onto her but she manages to keep him on his feet without another accident.

″There you go,″ she breathes out in relief when they finally reach the bedroom and he falls onto his bed like a bag of potatoes. She tucks him in like a mother usually tucks in her child, hands him the glass of water once more and then keeps sitting on his bedside until his eyes fall shut, her hand gently resting on his shoulder, her fingers occasionally caressing him.

 **XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

It's hours later that he wakes up again, when his stomach decides to riot once more and a wave of nausea hits him in his sleep. He doesn't know where Erin is and for a minute he's sure it's all just been a dream, his drunk brain playing with him, fooling him. But out of nowhere she is by his side in the bathroom, whispering soothing words, tickling his neck and handing him toilet paper and water.

At some point, in the middle of the night, they end up back in the living room, Erin making him a camomile tea to settle his stomach while he plops down on his couch like a picture of a misery, staring at the wall and the turned off TV with empty, tired eyes. Now that he's clearly sobered up, everything comes back, the words thrown at his father, the guilt and regret that come with it and the happenings of the day. It's merciless. It invades him. And he just wants to forget. But the alcohol didn't do a great job with that. It's only made him feel even more miserable now that the effect is no longer there. And he can't just keep on drowning his feelings in alcohol until he doesn't feel anything anymore and he doesn't bother the darkness anymore or he'll soon have a serious addiction problem.

So when Erin comes back, hands him the mug and settles next to him, he does the only other thing he thinks might help even though that's usually not his thing, even though he usually keeps such things for himself, buried deep down inside: he talks it off his chest without that she asks for it or even says a word. She's just simply there and so he tells her about the fire and his father being saved at first. He tells her about what happened at Med, about the fight and these very last words he threw at him in anger. He tells her about sitting by his father's bedside when they turned the ventilator off. He doesn't yet tell her about pursuing Daniel Mendoza himself and almost getting killed by doing so – he can't help but feel like she knows that part anyway - but he tells her about finding those pictures and articles in his apartment.

That's when he breaks.

That's when the tears spring back into his eyes and he starts to cry.

She doesn't say anything, doesn't offer any words of comfort because she probably knows there aren't any that could make this situation better or okay because it might not ever be okay. And he appreciates that. Instead, she wraps his arms around his body and just holds him and tells him he should let it all out. Because sometimes someone has to cry until there are no tears left.

Everything she does is all he needs in that moment.

She is all he needs in that moment.

 **XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

She's preparing a sparse, stomach-friendly breakfast for him in the kitchen so she can serve it as soon as he wakes up, when there's a knock on the door of his apartment. It's actually not her place to open the door - because honestly, if it wasn't for Hailey calling her yesterday in the late afternoon, she wouldn't know a thing about all of this - but as the knocking doesn't go away and the force increases instead - and since she wants Jay to sleep as long as possible - she sets the knife aside and opens the door, hoping that it is just some delivery guy because Jay ordered something online.

But it's not. Which isn't actually surprising.

Instead it's a familiar ginger who's standing in front of the door, his eyes, that are so different than his brother's, widening in shock as he sees her and for a second he looks like he's seeing a ghost, just like most of the people she's recently met in Chicago did. She can't exactly blame him for that but it makes her swallow nervously anyway.

″Erin?″ he asks in disbelief.

″Uhm hey,″ she says awkwardly.

″What the hell are you doing here?″ he's quick to ask the crucial question, his tone anything but friendly.

″Keeping your brother from doing stupid things,″ she answers vaguely.

″What does that mean?″ Will frowns.

″It means...it means that he shouldn't have been alone last night...″ she says somewhat reproachfully and it's not exactly what she wanted to say but now it's out already.

″Wait...″ he breathes out, his facial expression telling nothing good, ″...did you just blame me for leaving? You out of all people?″ he asks her in disbelief, his voice rising. ″You have no right-″

″Can we just not do this right now?″ she interrupts him, her voice rising as well. ″Don't judge the decisions of other people when you don't know all the facts. Because it's not fair-″

″It's not fair that you just left-″ he hisses but she interrupts him once more.

″Will!″ she exclaims. ″This is something between me and Jay because we're the only people involved, so would you just stop acting like it was all my fault?″ she asks, adding quietly: ″It always takes two.″

″Fine...but you have no idea how it was after you left...″ he says through gritted teeth and she can see in his face that he wants to ask so many more questions but holds them back, which surely takes a lot of self-control. ″Where is he?″

″Still sleeping,″ she answers. ″He was quite drunk when I arrived last night and mixed with the pain meds he got at the hospital it knocked him out. He vomitted his guts out for a couple of hours and we were up for the better part of the night, so I would prefer it if you could just let him sleep,″ she tells him, feeling like some bear mama that has to protect her cub.

″I told him not to drink...″ Will says more to himself than to her.

″And you really expected him to listen?″ Erin asks back. ″Will, he was in a vulnerable space after everything that happened."

"He told you?" he asks in surprise.

"Yeah," she nods. "And he just wanted to forget, to drown his feelings and emotions and be numb to the guilt and grief. And alcohol seems to be the easy way out in such situations.″

″I should've known it...″ he whispers and once again Erin isn't sure whether he's talking with her or himself.

″Probably,″ she tells him what she thinks. ″But I was there in the right moment and he's fine, that's all that matters.″

″Yeah,″ he nods pensively. ″Uhm...thanks...I guess. Can you...can you probably give him this?″ he asks awkwardly and hands her a little paper bag. ″It's a special soap for his wound for showering.″

″Sure,″ she replies and takes the little bag. ″Anything else?″

″Uhm...just tell him I'll text him about the funeral later.″

″Okay, will do,″ she confirms.

″Thanks,″ he forces a smile. ″See you later,″ he says and disappears faster than she can say anything back.

″Yeah, see you,″ she mumbles quietly before closing the door, inhaling a deep breath as soon as she doesn't have to look into Will Halstead's questioning and judging face anymore.

″Who was that?″ Jay's voice suddenly appears from the bedroom and she turns her head around to see him leaning in the doorway, still looking quite miserable as he's holding his side.

″Your brother,″ she shruggs. ″Brought this special showering soap for you,″ she adds, showing him the bag. ″He'll text you later.″

″Okay,″ he answers shortly like he doesn't exactly care.

″I uhm...I made you breakfast,″ she motions her head to the kitchen where a plate with toast that yet has to be toasted, and banana pieces and orange juice is waiting for him. ″It's nothing glamorous but probably exactly what your stomach is able to deal with this morning.″

″I'm not hungry,″ he says and leaves his spot in the doorway to walk into the living room, grimacing in pain with every step that he takes.

″Well okay, how about you take one of these painkillers for now, take a shower and have breakfast then?″

″I don't need those,″ he says, eyeing the painkillers she's offering.

″Jay you can barely walk and your face looks like you're being tortured,″ she notices the obvious. ″So just stop being stubborn for a minute and take one of those painkillers.″ She says it in a voice that doesn't allow any kind of disobeying and although he looks at her like he wants to put her six feet under for telling him what to do, he agrees and stops acting like a stubborn child.

″Fine,″ he sighs and takes the pill, gulping it down with some water. ″Satisfied now?″

″This isn't about me being satisfied, Jay,″ she answers quietly, her eyes staring into his eyes, and there's so much more she wants to tell him, so much more they have to talk about, but right now it's better to leave it at that and keep her mouth shut. ″Do you want to take that shower?″

″I guess,″ he only shruggs in response, reaches for the bag and limps to the bathroom, leaving her back in the living room without looking at her again. Last night, when he's been vulnerable and slightly drunk he was so much more reachable for her. And now there is quite the tension between them again, the reason for that probably that there are so many unspoken things between them that they finally have to address in order to move on.

She's considering how to start such a conversation, how to talk about all the things they urgently need to talk about, when she hears painful groaning from the bathroom and she doesn't even think about whether helping him is an option or not.

She finds him in the bathroom, where he's sitting on some stool in his sweats, a couple of clothes piled under his butt, struggling to pull his t-shirt over his head because it's obviously causing him a lot of pain.

″Let me help you,″ she says and is by his side in no time.

″Erin I don't need your help-″

″You do,″ she interrupts him and carefully helps him to take his t-shirt off, gasping for air when she sees the huge bruise on his chest that is shining in all different colors of purple, red and blue, and the scar of the flesh wound on his side. It's the first time she really realizes what a close call this was, how close he was to taking a deadly bullet, and this thought makes her swallow hardly and sends all kinds of different emotions off inside of her.

″There you go,″ she says when she's finally able to take her eyes away from his wounded body and discards the t-shirt somewhere on the tiled bathroom floor.

″Thanks,″ he mumbles.

″You get it from here?″ she asks gently, looking up at him and not being able to hide the concern on her face since she's never seen him like this before, so vulnerable and helpless and lost. Gone is the strong man who used to be her rock in every situation, leaving behind someone who needs a rock himself.

″Yeah,″ he nods and gets up on his feet, with just this one move suddenly standing dangerously close to her and she turns her head away quickly - her eyes falling onto the bruise and fresh scar again, his hot breath tickling her skin right by her cheek and ear nonetheless.

″God Jay,″ she whispers as her brain imagines all the possible what-if-scenarios by the sight of his wounds. What if the bullet got through. What if he died yesterday. What if she never got the chance to tell him how much he still means to her. What if she lost him in a different way than she already had, in a forever way.

In that moment, she loses the control over everything. Because despite telling herself for months that she can very well live without him, that she can move on and continue to live a life where he's not the center of her thoughts, the prospect of losing him forever, of him dying, overwhelms her. Because she can't lose him. She just simply can't. And so she can't hold the tears back from falling and she can't hold her fingers back from softly stroking over his tortured skin, a sharp breath escaping from his lips. But he doesn't hold her back.

It's another spur of the moment thing when she looks up, tears running down her cheeks and her fingers still caressing his skin, and their lips just simply meet in a kiss full of confused feelings and a whole lot of longing.

Their lips melt into each like they're made for this and it's probably the softest, most vulnerable kiss they ever shared. That is until Erin comes back to her senses, wondering what the hell they're doing again when this time there's not even alcohol involved, and pulls away.

″You uhm...you...″ she rambles, her lips still electrified by the kiss they just shared. ″You should take that shower,″ she tells him without looking at him and leaves him back in the bathroom.

He doesn't follow her.

Which is a good thing because it's all too much for her and in order to suppress her emotions, she rummages through his kitchen, makes the bed in the bedroom and tries to keep herself busy so the tears won't come. But they do anyway. And they make her break down, double over and sob uncontrolledly for five minutes straight until she's almost hyperventilating. And she only manages to dry her tears before he escapes the bathroom freshly showered, the happenings of the past 10 minutes still evident in her face, her eyes puffy and red.

″Feeling better now?″ she tries to smile at him, acting like nothing happened.

″Yeah,″ he confirms, scanning her sternly but staying exactly where he is so there's quite some space between them. ″What's going on?″ he asks and of course she knows he means her swollen face and red eyes. Of course he knows she bawled her eyes out for the last couple of minutes. Bawled them out for a reason that shouldn't actually be a reason for her to cry.

″It's nothing,″ she shruggs, wiping the last tears away with the back of her hand.

″Don't do that,″ he says. ″Don't pretend it's nothing.″ She can hear the unspoken _please_ , the unspoken begging to tell him what's going on with her. With them. And she realizes that as much as she doesn't know how to start a conversation about _everything_ , he doesn't as well.

″It's just...it's just...when I saw those bruises and the through-and-through...I just...damn Jay, you almost got yourself killed,″ she whispers, her voice raspy and raw. ″And I...I can't...lose you...not like this.″

It's out. The words that she shouldn't say, because she's basically already lost him, are out. And if she wanted to see an instant reaction, she's being disappointed right now. Because there is no reaction coming from him. He doesn't move, his face doesn't give anything away and he doesn't comment it. Instead he asks the other crucial question that has the potential to finally make them talk about everything they're trying to avoid, to deny.

″Why are you here, Erin?″

″Because you needed someone being there,″ she answers quickly, knowing that it's too weak of an explanation for him.

″Why are you here, Erin?″ he asks again and she knows he'll ask that until she gives him the answer he wants to hear, until she tells him something that doesn't sound like a lie.

″Because...because if something like this happened to me, I would want my colleagues to know that they should call you and I would want you to be the one to come. Because you know me like no one else does.″

It's the truth. And given that he doesn't ask the same question for a third time, he seems to believe it. Instead, he's silent, probably considering her words and trying to find any hidden meaning behind them. When he speaks again, he doesn't question it any further but instead continues to ask those crucial questions that will sooner or later make them talk it all out. They're going into one certain direction now and there's no going back. It's the long overdue conversation they both avoided. Because they're both masters when it comes to avoiding. And pretending.

″Why did you leave?″

″What?″ she acts like she doesn't quite get what he means when she actually knows exactly what he wants to know.

″Why did you leave for New York just like that? Without a goodbye?″ he asks, his voice rising with emotion. ″Why didn't you talk to me about it?″

″We weren't exactly in a great spot for talking,″ she shruggs, her voice somewhat sarcastic and she knows in that moment that this conversation is going to be ugly.

″Our relationship probably wasn't in a good place but I always thought we could trust each other...″

″Relationship?″ she echoes in disbelief, literally throwing this word at him. ″What relationship, Jay? Because as far as I'm concerned you ended that relationship for a reason I'll never understand!″

Those words seem to hit him and make him speechless for a minute and when he's speaking again, there's not a whole lot of fight left in it. ″I just wanted to protect you," he almost whispers.

″Protect me from what?!″ she yells and she can feel the tears coming up again as everything else will finally come up as well. Everything she's kept down deep down inside for over a year. ″Jay, you moving out and leaving me hurt me more than witnessing you battling with your demons could ever have done!″ she fires at him and she can see the emotions and pain on his face. But now they're here and now she has to tell him about the hell he put her through. ″I didn't care about your past or what Abby triggered in you because I loved you and I just wanted to be there for you and fighting this battle with you together. Because that's what girlfriends do. But instead you pushed me away and just moved out like what we had was not worth fighting for. Like you didn't want me to be a part of your life anymore.″

Her voice cracks and she can't control her tears as they fall down her face and she has to inhale a deep breath before she's able to continue. ″You were the one person I trusted with my life. The one person I couldn't lose. The one I granted access to my heart...and the way I felt for you...I've never felt like this for someone else before. Because I never allowed myself to fall for someone so deeply and so truly and make myself so vulnerable with it...and I never met someone as caring and honest and loving as you. I always wanted to protect my heart from getting broken but with you...I was so sure you wouldn't break my heart because you're one in a million, because you're the one for me and I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you by my side.″ Her angry and hurt voice is cracking in between some more but so far she's able to hold back the sobs and the inevitable breakdown.

″You were my person, my safe haven, my partner in crime and suddenly you move out,″ she whispers, gulping down the upcoming sob once again. ″It broke me. You broke me. You broke my heart into so many pieces that I'm sure I'll never be able to put them back together again. I never cried for a guy before because I never felt about anyone in such an intense, unconditional way but what we had was real and once you were gone and I had to take those pillows out of the closet again, I cried every night because I lost the one person I couldn't fucking lose! You, Jay.″

Now she's sobbing. But she doesn't mind. That's real, her real self. It's in fact the most real she's ever been.

″Even when I was already in New York and didn't live in our apartment with all the memories anymore, I couldn't stop myself from crying until there were no tears left to cry. That's what your protection did to me. So don't you dare to blame me for leaving you when you were the one who fucking left first!″

And finally, it's all out. And it feels like a huge weight being lifted off her chest, a weight she's been carrying around for over a year. She wipes her tears away with her hand and waits for his reaction but she's only met with silence. He's not even looking at her, is avoiding her gaze, and this reaction is enough for her to know that he knows the way things ended between them is as much on him as it is on her, that she's not the only one to blame, that he's not the only one being left behind heartbroken. It takes two to start a relationship. It usually takes two to end a relationship. And it mostly leaves two broken hearts behind.

″I wanted to propose to you,″ he whispers almost inaudibly but that isn't the reason why she's wondering whether she heard right, why her heart drops to her smallest toe.

″What?″ she utters.

″I wanted to propose to you,″ he repeats his words that confirm she actually heard right, and he finally lifts his head to look at her, his face a mirror of her own with this countless amount of heartbreak written all over it. ″I asked Will for my mom's ring because I wanted to ask you to marry me but then you left before I had a chance to do so...″

She's in shock, probably even in denial, and feels like being hit with a heavy stone or something that could cause similar damage, this being the very very last thing she expected, and at first, her lips can't move as she tries to make sense of what he just said, as she tries to understand. ″Why would you...why would you propose after...after breaking up with me?″

″I never broke up with you, Erin. I just moved out to protect you, fully intending on moving back in once this is all worked out and everything that comes with it doesn't hurt you any longer. But when those things with your mom happened...I just...I just wanted to show you that I'm there for you, that I love you regardless and that I'm still your person. But instead of getting the chance to ask you I only carried the ring around in my pocket all day and when I finally had the courage to call you and ask you to meet, you didn't answer your phone anymore. Not on that day, not on the following day and not ever.″

″I had no idea,″ she murmurs, not sure whether she's talking to him or rather to herself.

″Yeah...you couldn't with just leaving and never looking back,″ he says reproachfully, bitterly.

″Jay I was heartbroken and stood in front of the ruins of not only my personal life but also my career...and in that moment it was the only right thing for me to just leave everything behind me without looking back.″

He doesn't say anything back. Instead they're standing there, this odd space still between them, looking at each other with not only heartbreak and hurt in their eyes but also a whole lot of longing and love that neither of them is yet able to deal with.

″What now?″ he asks the final of those crucial questions, probably the most crucial of all of them.

″I don't know,″ she admits quietly. ″I need to clear my head I guess...get some fresh air...,″ she tells him and is quick to pick up her jacket from the backrest of the couch.

″You know one of the first conversations Will and I had about you?″ he asks her, his voice defeated, while she's already putting on her shoes that are discarded next to the door. ″After seeing you, he told me you're quite something. And I told him: No she isn't something. She's everything.″

She has to close her eyes so the tears don't fall again immediately and she remembers the day of meeting Will Halstead for the first time as if it was yesterday although it was such a long time ago, back in the days when they were dating secretly, when no one could know about them or it would cause them serious trouble. In some way, those words hurt her, but in some other weird way, they heal her broken heart because after thinking about it for a minute, she can't help but wonder whether this was just a hidden I love you.

She puts her shoes back on, gets up and then smiles through her tears when looking at him, giving him a hidden message back, that he might only understand in case his words were a hidden message as well. ″When we had this affair thing going on and Nadia asked me whether this is just for fun, I told her: I don't know. Jay's everything I never thought a man could be, so other than for fun I rather want this to be for ever.″

And with these words, she leaves.

Again.

 **XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

Will and Natalie pick him up from his place in the afternoon because it's really just the three of them for Pat Halstead's funeral. They will meet everyone else – neighbors, friends - later, when they attend the memorial that one of his longterm neighbors in Canaryville organized in his backyard. But the funeral itself is kept small and simple with just some priest saying a couple of words before they can say their final goodbyes to the man they both had a complicated relationship with.

He hasn't seen Erin since she left his apartment a couple of hours ago, hasn't heard from her either, and so he's more than surprised when she's suddenly right by his side just seconds before the priest starts to talk, not saying a word, not looking at him either. She's just taking the spot next to him silently. And despite still not knowing what they are for each other at this point and how to go on from here, he's thankful she's here, right by his side, where he needs her to be, where she belongs.

And when the priest starts to speak, he feels the familiar touch of her soft skin as she first touches his fingers carefully and then softly laces her fingers through his until they're intertwined, until she can squeeze his hand gently and he can squeeze back.

That's the moment he knows he's going to be fine.

It's the moment he knows they're going to be fine.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little two-shot! As I mentioned before, in case you want to have a 3rd part, I might give it a try. Just let me know whether you're interested and what you would like to read ;-)**


End file.
